All Through the Night
by Sierra Nicole
Summary: Molly sits at Bill's bedside, the night of the battle at Hogwarts.


1_Written for the second Harry Potter Gen Ficathon on LiveJournal, for which my prompt was: "Molly__ tries to cope with the injuries to her children during the war (can either be Ron's injuries in OotP, Bill's in HBP or other)."_

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All Through the Night

_I don't know if I can take much more of this_, Molly mused as she sat in Hogwarts' hospital wing. On the bed in front of her lay her eldest son. _My first baby_, she thought, remembering another hospital, what seemed ages ago but also just yesterday, the day he'd made the Weasleys a family instead of just "Arthur and Molly." She'd sat and watched him sleep, just like she was now. She wouldn't even take her eyes away from him to notice her dinner, until Arthur had threatened to take little Billy out of the room if she didn't eat. She wanted to touch his face and run her fingers through his silky hair: then, to make sure that he was indeed real; now, to convince herself that he was still alive. But always to let him know that Mummy was right there and she loved him and he was safe now.

But Molly didn't touch his face this time, and her hands were restless in her lap. Her eyes were restless, too, sometimes staring at the bandages hiding Bill's face from her, sometimes trying to look anywhere else, because she knew what was underneath the bandages... Molly stood up and turned away, but instantly decided it was worse not to have him right in front of her. She turned to him again and busied her hands by rearranging the covers on his chest. Bill stirred, and she jerked her hands away, fearing she had hurt him and almost in tears that she had been so careless. But then he spoke.

"Mum?"

The voice in her ears was dry and raspy, but to her heart it sounded the same as it had a thousand times before: walking through the kitchen door with a finger bitten by a garden gnome, skinned up knees, scraped elbows, bumps and bruises, standing at her bedside and desperately clutching his teddy bear as he told her about his nightmare. Always just 'Mum...' but his eyes would plead with her to make everything all right again.

_I can't kiss it away this time_, she thought, but swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to sound encouraging as she said, "I'm right here, sweetheart."

"Hurts," he said, and Molly couldn't stop her tears as she slipped her hand into his searching fingers.

"I know, love," she whispered, and sank back into her chair by his bedside. She didn't know what else to say, so she started humming the lullaby she'd sung to all of her children. As a child, Bill had helped her sing it to each of the others, sometimes even to her pregnant belly before they were born. Bill's fingers around hers slowly loosened and she gently laid his hand back on his stomach as she continued humming. Soon soft words were coming out,

_Sleep my child and peace attend thee,  
All through the night  
Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
All through the night _

Angels watching, e'er around thee,  
All through the night  
Midnight slumber close surround thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
All through the night

Her voice was nothing remarkable, but the familiarity of the song soothed both of them, and Molly found herself sitting more calmly than she had all night. She didn't even jump when the door to the hospital wing opened to admit the girl who was going to take Bill away from her forever.

"Madame Weazley?" Fleur called softly in that bedroom voice of hers and glided forward with the barest brush of slippers on the stone floor. "Eet eez past midnight; I will sit with him until morning."

"Thank you, Fleur," Molly replied, "but I'm not tired. I can stay." She wouldn't have left his side for anything in the world.

"Do you theenk you are ze only one who worries for 'im?" Fleur stood on the other side of Bill's bed and looked down at his bandaged face with an impossibly blissful expression. "Zat you are ze only one who loves him?"

"No, of course not," Molly conceded. "I..."

"Your cheeldren and 'usband worry, too," Fleur said, not looking away from Bill's sleeping form. "Be with your family; comfort each uzzer."

Molly shook her head. "Bill is my family, too."

"I 'eard you singing to 'im," Fleur replied, "Bill knows you love 'im, and 'e will sleep better for it, I theenk." She looked up into Molly's eyes and for once her gaze was not demanding or haughty. "I can watch him sleep, but I am not ze mother or wife to ze others. Zey need _you_."  
For the second time that evening, Molly was speechless. Perhaps Fleur understood more of what being a wife and mother meant than Molly had thought. And perhaps she truly was as in love with Bill as Molly herself had been with Arthur all those years ago. "You..." she took a breath to steady her voice, "you take care of him," she told the girl as she stood up from her chair.

"I am proud to do so," Fleur said, "_Mon homme courageux_." Her fingers gently brushed his cheek, caressing as if the bandages weren't in the way. Molly winced, but Bill never stirred. "See?" Fleur whispered, though she didn't turn to look at Molly again. "He sleeps like an _enfant_, thanks to you."

"Yes, he always has," Molly agreed, and suddenly felt like an intruder upon a very personal moment. She turned and walked toward the door in silence. She turned as she opened it for one last look, but neither of them had moved: Fleur's hand still rested on Bill's cheek, and she gazed intently at him. _The way I did, that first night_, Molly realized, and wondered if the girl would have moved at all by the time morning came.

Still, closing the hospital wing door behind her felt like abandoning Bill, like cutting him out of her life when he needed her most. _Or is it _I_ who need _him she wondered. Bill coming into her life had changed her identity: as of that moment, she was a mother, and she had thrown herself body and soul into that task ever since. And truth to be told, she felt a little lost without the boy who had so changed her life.

As if some cosmic force had sensed Molly's need, Ginny rounded a corner in front of her. "Mum," she said, and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. Molly hugged her back for several moments, amazed as always that no matter how much any of her children grew, they each still seemed to fit _just_ right in her arms. "Come on," Ginny said, stepping back and wiping at her cheeks, "I'll take you to Dad and Ron. We're in McGonagall's old office, she's Transfigured the furniture..."

Molly followed Ginny and found two anxious faces waiting for them. She hugged Ron more fiercely than he had let her in a very long time and Arthur squeezed her hand with a silent but meaningful look. _All is well_, she told herself. "He's doing fine," she told them, "Fleur is with him." Never in her life would she have thought that could sound so comforting. _All is well_.


End file.
